


Failure Wasn't Given As An Option

by TheTripBeginsWithAKiss (geekyred)



Series: Duty Bound [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyred/pseuds/TheTripBeginsWithAKiss





	1. Chapter 1

“Congratulations Ma’am, we’re all proud of you.”

M’s had enough of the tub-thumping and self satisfied pats on the back that Whitehall have to offer but she’ll take Palmer’s praise at face value.  The lad has no agenda. He’s nothing more than an accomplished journeyman sent to watch over her and he knows it.  Not only that he’s happy with it.  He’ll give his life if he has to, from a deep rooted sense of duty and valour that has its home in a father who was in the service and the generations of older Palmer soldiers who would be honoured to be in the boy’s shoes if they’d had the chance.  But he’s got no death-wish, no clamour or slide towards a 00.  The boy wants a life and a family.  He’s not looking for anything else.  If there were more like him, M knows, MI6 would be in trouble.

So she’s sure there’s no politics, personal or public, and he’s not aiming for anything higher than a smile when he praises her for a job well done.  There’s no over-inflated hot air of Downing Street here.  Nothing to fill her head with feint praise and damnable words that would throw her off her game if she were to listen to them.  Nothing her humility can’t handle.  She gives Palmer the smile he deserves and thanks him.  His discreet words mean more than any she’s heard lately. Then M shuts her front door behind her and the outside world is just about vanished.

Two days.  _Two bloody days_.  She could scream but her anger is pointless and she knows it.  What’s done is done.  Years of intelligence, months of tactical manoeuvring only to have the Whitehouse cowboy storm in with his little confederates.  That fucked up her best laid plans and she fixed the mess as best she could.  She scrambled a team; put Bond on as lead agent and then personally orchestrated every move for a solid forty-eight hours. The job got done in the end. Now she’s got Whitehall, both sides of the house and several foreign agencies (never mind the epic grovelling Britain’s Atlantic cousins are doing) all kissing her arse and telling her she can walk on water.

She hates it.

She kicks off her shoes somewhere along the hallway before she reaches the lounge door and she’s wondering how exactly she’s going to work out all of the days and days worth of worry and anger, sleeping on office furniture or not sleeping at all, and find her way back to herself.

“Fucking Yanks.”  She spits out as she walks in to her lounge.

“I couldn’t agree more Ma’am.”

With too many years of doing what she does behind her M doesn’t finch.

Bond’s always been a cocky little swine. But today, lounging on one of her sofas, even though he’s sodding well done it again, M breaths deeply and partly forgives him the intrusion in to her personal life.  He’s just done a hell of a job and he knows it; knows the liberty he can just about get away with taking.  Not for the first time M marks the ingenuity of his breaking and entering somewhere in the back of her mind for future reference and dumps her briefcase and summer coat over the arm of the chair nearest to her.

“How the hell did you get back here so quickly?”  She asks.

“It was a very expensive flight.”  He tells her.

“Oh for God’s sake Bond, I’ve got half the government in my pocket and the other half trying to climb in, I’d like to keep them in hock for a while longer before the treasury gets haughty about paying for your outlandish flight home.”

She stares him down and Bond has the nerve to look amused.

“I used some contacts.  Didn’t cost the treasury a penny Ma’am.”

“Flight attendant pretty was she?”  M asks him casually as she pours herself a drink.  She would offer Bond one but, unsurprisingly, he seems to have helped himself to her booze before she was home.

Bond gives her a grin that’s nothing but predatory. “They both were Ma’am.”  He says and raises his glass to her before he knocks back a generous swig.

M gives him something close to a roll of the eyes without ever giving the impression that she gives that much of a damn.  “I don’t know where you find the bloody energy.”  She says.  “I don’t even know how you manage to seduce anyone in that state.”  She takes a seat on the sofa across the floor from Bond.   “You look like hell.”  And she snaps the last sentence out harsher than she wanted to.

Bond is well aware of how he looks.  He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as M but a harder time with it.  He’s tailored immaculately - naturally; good shoes, a Tom Ford, tasteful cufflinks on a crisp white shirt and a dark silk tie to pull the focus.  But there’s a nasty cut above his left eye.  The gash - deep and on the brow bone - and the attendant bruising just beginning to show could easily mark him out as a boxer with a reputation for easy cuts and dropped hands.  But the wound is clean enough and the white steri-strips lacing it up feel like their doing their job. The rest; bruises mostly and the odd scrape, they’re underneath the suit and barely beginning to show.  It’s good enough for now.

Bond raises the cut brow.  “Lets put it down to boyish charm.”  He says with a little bitterness as he lifts one of M’s tumblers to his mouth again and drinks.  Any trace of bitterness quietly fades though.  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are you laughing at me?”  He asks with a smile of his own.

“Oh, James, maybe just a little.”  She tells him as her shoulders bob.  “Who are these women?  And why are so many of them so very willing to fall for your,” she pauses, searching for the right words, “little boy charms.”

“My ‘charms’,” he says, putting his tumbler down on the carpeted floor, “are hardly those of a little boy Ma’am.”  He raises the cut brow again and gives her a smile that turns the corners of his mouth up and warms his eyes.

M tries, and if she’s honest, fails not to think about that.  But it’s for his guile that she lets Bond get away with the blue murder that he does, not his more obvious aspects.

“I’m sure they’re more than adequate James.”

She sounds more than a tad patronising to his ears, and she’s still smiling.

“What would it take then?”

“hmm?”

“If boyish charms wont wash…what would it take to get you in to bed?”

“That’s hardly appropriate 007.”

The official designation, Bond knows he’s pushing his luck.

He leans further forward.  “Fuck appropriate.”  He says in a low, light, laughing growl.  “What would it take to get M in to bed?”  His eyes are full of curiosity.  “What would it take for _me_ to get M in to bed?”  Jesus.  Even to his own ears he sounds hungry.  How long has this been eating at him?

“James, that’s enough.”  But M can already feel it; that potent electricity that all those women must bristle with when he’s near.  The spine tingling tension.  Still though, he’s a boy to her; sexy to be sure, but not quite the man she’d ever looked for. That’s why she’s always been able to dismiss him so easily.

For a fleeting second Bond sees it.  Something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s a need he sees and his instinct knows how to work it.  He looks M carefully in the eyes and his predatory smile is back before he speaks again.

“What would it take to get Barbara in to bed?”

There’s a flicker in M’s eyes that Bond doesn’t miss and he thinks, ‘ _oh there it is_ ’  and now he’s moved beyond instinct and he knows where the path leads and, _Christ_ , he wants to walk down it.

“Well, Ms Mawdsley?

M feels her jaw tighten and her body, despite her best efforts, flinches at the name and now she knows she’ll struggle to say a word to admonish him.

She pulls herself to her feet. “James…” She forces herself to say as a counsel, pouring as much dark warning and power in to as she can.  There’s nothing she can do about what her eyes say to him, though.

Bond gets to his feet and he’s standing tall in front of her. “Oh I had a life before Six,” he tells her, “just like you.  Lets,”  He takes deep breath, “lets try acknowledging that shall we.”

M sets her jaw firmly.  She’s not doing this.  Not with him.  Who the hell does he think he-

He’s leaning down with his mouth close to her ear.  “Come on Barbara.”  He whispers. “Say it.  You know I’m better than all your other little boys. You know I can do this.  Whatever you’re keeping locked away,” he pauses and the absence of his hot breath near her neck makes her shiver, “you know I could be the key.”

She presses a firm, unyielding hand in to Bond’s chest.  Damn it, his shirt is warm and a little damp and M wonders, has he been sweating because he’s carrying the injuries she can see from his gait or because of this?  Because of her and what they could do for each other.  He’s let her push him back and she’s staring with blank eyes at a crisply white shirt.

“Bond-”

“Say it.”

There’s a soft tremor in her voice when she speaks.  “Commander…”  She says with her gaze still fixed dead ahead.  “I don’t think…”

He lays his fingertips gently under her chin and raises her head so he can see her eyes.

“Last chance.”  He says softly.

It’s there, whatever she was afraid of seeing in the deep blue of Bond’s eyes, it’s there for her to witness.

“Commander Bond.”  She says with a breath that feels like the last she’ll ever take.


	2. Chapter 2

Bond lets a tender but still heated smile play across his lips.  “Now that wasn’t so hard was it.”  He says to her, still using a hushed tone he rarely exercises.  His hand slips away from M’s chin and his finger tips graze the fine lines across her cheek and travel lightly down her neck.

She’s trembling a little. “You’ve no idea.”  She tells him.  She can hear the trace of nervous laughter in her own voice.

He’s stroking feathery touches along her collar bone, pushing his fingers underneath her light linen jacket and revelling in the goosebumps that trail in his wake.  He’s looking at her in a way M thought she’d never see.

“What do you want me to do?”  He asks her.  “What would Barbara let me do to her?”

He takes his hand away from touching her and he begins to undo the knot in his tie.

“Where does she stop?”  He’s asking as he moves around her, taking in every inch of the small woman that’s just given him everything she holds most dear.  “Would she let me tie her up?  Spank her? Fuck her?”  Bond’s pouring over every detail of her as he speaks. He’s looking for something in her changing breaths to say no, something in her look that tells him too far, or a half formed word on her lips ready to say stop.  But as he whispers a roll of every desire he’s ever felt, every act he’s willing to commit and every touch he’s ever wanted to give and grows hard and long at the though of it all, there’s little she seems afraid of.

His tie is hanging loose around his collar.  “Fucking hell.”  He says with wide eyes.  “You’re not shy are you?  You’re going to be the death of me.”  He kisses her forehead.  “And I’m going to make sure you love every minute of it as much as I do.”  He smiles at her and his eyes are open and honest and hiding almost nothing from her.

M lets herself smile and some of the tension eases out of her.  She doesn’t flinch when Bond first takes her jacket from her then has her wrist in his grasp.  She allows herself to enjoy the warmth of his tough hands holding her tightly and, as Bond wraps his tie around her skin, she revels in the texture of the silk.

He’s tying a knot, something from basic training that he thinks this woman in front of him would have little trouble freeing herself from if she really wanted, tightening it just enough to bite but the slip of the silk eases the teeth of it. He moves around her again, until he’s standing at her back and he pulls both her hands behind her and begins to tether one wrist to the other and pulls the final knot just a bit harder than he needs to.  He looks down at her feet.

“Tights or stockings?”  He asks.

He’s never heard her so quiet when she tells him tights.

“Well, that wont do.”  He says and slips to his knees in front of her and begins to trace his hands over her calves then underneath the hem of her dress to her thighs all the way up to her waist.  With her dress gathered further up than it should be but not showing anything more than mid thigh, and he pulls the tights away and down, ripping them without much care as he goes.  He starts to pull her dress up, and he’s thinking, after the nylons to see her in something functional from the high street.

“Well now,” He said when her dress is up around her waist and held in place with his hands.  His thumbs are skimming over soft material.  “Not quite what I was expecting.  Where are these from Mawdsley?”

She steadies her breath before she gives him an answer that she ends with a ‘sir’ and she’s rewarded with a warm kiss through the fabric that pushes the same warmth through her body.

“Why am I not too surprised you get your knickers from the same place as the Queen.”  He says with a grin and he smoothes her dress back down.

He’s on his feet and looking at her in time to see her pupils dilate.

“Oh come on,” he says firmly “the shop has a royal warrant, everybody knows they do her knickers.”

There’s a trace of a smile on her lips.

“Such a low opinion of me, haven’t you.”  He says with a teasing tone. He sets himself against her shoulder and pulls her against him with one hand as the other slides down across her back and the swell of her arse.

He taps his index finger lightly against the curve.  He’s craning his neck to get his mouth close to her ear.  “I think someone needs to be taught a lesson, don’t you Ms Mawdsley?”

When he taps a little harder and says ‘well?’ M knows it’s a question he wants answered.

“Yes sir.”  She says, holding her voice low and firm.

He hitches her dress up around her waist again and she knows he’s peering over her shoulder to look at her bum.

The force of his palm connecting with the fleshy swell of her arse throws her against him.  She can feel the bulge of his hard dick pressed against her and tingle of pain where his hand has doubtless left its first mark.

Bond skims a fingertip over the redness, surprised by how quickly M’s skin has coloured.  When his finger reaches the crease at the top of her thigh he pulls his hand away and smacks her again.

Again she’s jolted against him and this time she lets out a little breath of pain and shudders.

“Lets have you nice and quiet.  I don’t want to hear you unless it’s too much.  Can you do that for me?”

She nods at his shoulder, “Yes sir.”  She says before she bites her lip as he spanks his palm against her again.

“Much better.”  He tells her as she stays quiet.  He kisses her hair at the crown and begins a steady, softer rhythm with his hand smacking at her arse.

M’s beyond thought, far beyond questioning herself for this.  All that’s flushing through her is the tingle of pain and desire, of want and need and she’s fucking wet.  She bites down on her lip harder to stop herself from moaning but her body shudders against Bond’s in a way that makes him aware.

He stops spanking her and grabs her by her bound wrists.  He takes her to the back edge of the couch nearest to them and at his urging M presses her hands and back against it to support herself. 

M flushes redder as he rubs her through her wet knickers, tracing his fingers across folds and flesh.  He pushes the fabric down off her hips far enough that they slip down her legs on to the floor.

Bond taps the top of her thighs. “Wider.”  He tells her and when she does as she’s told he pats his hand between her legs.

She purses mouth to stay quiet as he lays little drums and strikes across her cunt.  Every so often he strikes harder and she jerks and quivers and barely stops her knees from giving way.

She’s got him harder than Bond can ever remember feeling and he’s mesmerised by the way her body tenses and jerks with every beat of his palm and fingertips and he’s insanely turned on by the way the struggle to stay silent is played out on her face.

“Fuck.”  He breaths it out and to M’s ears the word lasts forever.

He drops to his knees and grips hard at her hips.

“Oh look at you,”  He growls.

Her pussy is slick, but deep pink and swollen from his touches.  He ghosts a softer touch across her, over a small patch of curls and tender skin that he was surprised was bare and smooth when he first touched it.

“How does it feel?”

“Hot.  Stinging.  Sensitive.”  She tells him hoarsely.

Bond licks his tongue out flatly across her folds, her clit,- just once - then puffs a wave of cold air from his mouth that cools further on her and he watches the ripple of goosebumps rise.

“Good?”  He asks.

“God yes.”

He murmurs against her curls, “Tell me everything,”  He says, “I want to hear everything.”  And he slides his mouth across her clit and sucks as she tells him all that he wants to hear.  He twists his tongue around her, traces patterns over her and in to her, pushes his finger at her ready cunt and crooks it inside and twists and pushes and never stops his tongue and his lips working her, tasting and savouring her as she calls out his name, _his_ name, over and over and shouts and whispers filthy words that only spur him on.  The pressure that’s coiling inside her keeps twisting and looping back on itself, building layer upon layer of something delicious and dangerous and she’s telling him all of this, and whispering and begging to come, _please let me come._

He lets it happen and Bond holds M steady as she folds down over him and gasps for air, heaving deep breaths in to her.

When they both find their feet again, Bond stands so close M can feel his dick is still achingly hard.  He pushes further against her and urges a heavy kiss at her mouth.

Christ, she can taste herself on his tongue and his lips are still wet with her, _her._   The pinch of his hands are at her waist again and he’s lightly rocking against her.

Both their mouths are flushed when he pulls away from the kiss.

“You’re not quite,”  She glances down at his trousers, “you’re not finished.”

He smiles in his predatory way again and tries to adjust his cock in his trousers to hide his hard-on.

“It’ll keep.”  He tells her as he’s wiping his mouth on his cuff.  “Besides,  I rather like the thought of having you owe me.”  He tugs at M’s dress ‘till the hem is decent again.  “Thank-you.”

He’s already on his way out, just leaving the lounge door when M calls him back.

“Yes?”

M turns around and shows him her still tied wrists.

“Oh that’s alright Ma’am.” He grins.  “You can keep the tie.  That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it?”

“You cheeky little…”  she bites her tongue,  “No.”  She tells him as she starts to work the knots.  “No, Bond, much like you, it’s an inconvenience more than anything else.”

 


End file.
